


Touch Starved

by DhampirsDrinkEspresso



Series: Skin Hunger [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Actor Ben Solo, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Biting, Dominant Armitage Hux, Eventual Reylux+Poe, F/M, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Hair-pulling, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, No heat, Oversold Hotel, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Rey Needs A Hug, Snowed In, Switch Ben Solo, Switch Rey, Vaginal Fingering, Vomiting, Why Does Rey Have A Weak Stomach, Would that be Preylux, Writer Rey (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DhampirsDrinkEspresso/pseuds/DhampirsDrinkEspresso
Summary: Rey Hux and Ben Solo-Dameron - AKA Hollywood Heartthrob Kylo Ren - are on a press tour for her latest novel, which is also going to be his next film, both as star and executive producer. Since they are friends, her publisher, the film's director (who happens to be married to Ben), and her agent (her husband, of course) convinced them this was a perfect opportunity. Now they're stranded in Minnesota, the hotel only has one room, and Poe is asking a favor Rey isn't sure she can grant.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Rey, Armitage Hux/Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Rey/Ben Solo|Kylo Ren/Poe Dameron, Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, Poe Dameron/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Poe Dameron/Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Skin Hunger [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650106
Comments: 20
Kudos: 79





	1. Fix This

**Author's Note:**

> Ideally this will be part of a series, but I haven't really written in about 15 years and, well, rusty is one word for it. We're starting in the middle of things, several months after Rey met Ben and Poe on a flight and their adorable son recognized her from a book jacket and then promptly got sick on her. Future fics should (hopefully) address questions and flesh out the background but please feel free to ask for clarification if needed. Again, rusty...and we're not talking "needs a little WD-40 to move again" rusty, more "hole in the floorboard and no one has any idea what color the metal used to be" rusty.
> 
> The rating applies to part 2, which I hope to have ready in the next day or two.
> 
> Not beta'd so all mistakes are mine (also, I am fully aware I have an issue switching tenses; combating that is an ongoing process).
> 
> It's my first Star Wars fic (er, the first I am posting anyway), and possibly my first ever AU. It may be terrible, it's likely terrible, but I'm having fun.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are welcome as I try to remember how to do this whole writing thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben arrive at their hotel after a very long day to find the property is oversold, there's a blizzard starting, and then the room they are given has no heat. 
> 
> _She squeaks again, clears her throat, and this time manages to bite out a few words. “Poe, are you really asking me to sit here and watch while you and Ben have phone sex?”  
>  “No!” He pauses, and she knows this is going to be another thing she really. Does. Not. Want. To. Hear.  
> “No, I’m not asking you to watch, Rey.”  
> He pauses for another breath.  
> “I’m asking you to help.”_

By the middle of the press tour Rey is ready to climb the walls.

Or possibly kill Ben.

Or maybe just _climb_ Ben. Nope, not that.

No _climbing_ Ben.

God, she needs to see Armie.

Then the flight to Minnesota was delayed twice (really? Three days—and nights—in Minnesota? In JANUARY? Who scheduled this trip?), the driver who had picked them up had a flat, and now…well, now the front desk agent looks very much like she might cry, scream a string obscenities while throwing things, or throw up at any moment (possibly all three) and Ben is NOT HELPING.

“What do you mean you don’t have our rooms?” He isn’t yelling—at least not yet—but the narrowed eyes and the way his voice is just a hiss has Rey a little more worried than if he had already raised his voice. “Of all the incompetent, asinine…I’ll have your job for this. Get me your manager! NOW!”

And that was it.

“ENOUGH!” Rey grabs his wrist and jerks until he is facing her. “Don’t you _dare_ talk to her that way! She is doing a very difficult job, for which I suspect she is VASTLY underpaid, and she should NOT have to deal with this shit from you. You go sit your ass down and let me handle this.” She gives him a shove and is honestly a little surprised when for once he actually does exactly what she told him, flopping into a chair nearby and muttering to himself. Rey is exceedingly glad it’s so late there aren’t any other guests around to witness his behavior, or worse, post it on social media, although she has no doubt the story will be out by sunrise—there might not have been any other guests but there were staff closing the hotel restaurant, cleaning the lobby, and probably doing laundry somewhere close enough to have heard the outburst. She also can’t help noticing the hotel security guard has come out and stationed himself at the corner of the reception desk, calmly watching her travel companion. Rey spares a moment to offer him an apologetic smile before turning back to the young woman on the opposite side of the high counter.

“Sorry about that,” she pauses to glance at the woman’s name tag, “Jannah, is it?” The woman nods and offers a very forced smile. “So, you said you don’t have our rooms. Before Karen over there,” she gestures over her shoulder at the sulking man, “started throwing a tantrum, it sounded like you were going to say something else. Do you have relocation options set up?”

If it’s possible for the woman to look even more terrified, it happens. “I am SO sorry, but with the storm there’s nothing else…you were my last two reservations and…well I can’t walk you anywhere, but I DO have one suite. It’s not the 2 you had booked, just a standard king suite with a sofa sleeper in the living room. I can talk to my manager about it, I’m sure she’ll agree to comp the room charge—” If the woman didn’t breathe soon, she was going to pass out.

“It’s okay, take a breath. I appreciate you. I know it isn’t fun being the one to have to deal with us, and this isn’t your fault. Things happen, rooms go out of service, people show up a day late, management gambles on an overbooking strategy to maximize revenue.” Jannah looks impressed now. “I worked hotel reception for a while after University. I’ve literally been in your position. I insist you take payment for the room, it’s a business trip so it’s not like I’m actually paying for it anyway. Is it possible you will have the second room tomorrow?”

“I, well we should, I mean, the storm and all might mean no one can leave but, yes, I mean most likely we can get you your second room tomorrow.”

Rey smiles and hands over her ID and the travel expense credit card from her publisher before turning her attention to her phone. Let Poe handle Ben and his attitude. There’s a text response right away, followed by the familiar ringtone from Ben’s phone and his low voice answering. She can almost _feel_ some of the tension in the lobby dissipate when he hears his husband’s voice for the first time in about 30 hours. She can’t quite make out the words, but his tone is shifting from irritated, to defensive, and finally resigned. By the time he stands up and moves back to stand beside her he’s ending the call with a soft, “I love you too, give Bren a kiss from Daddy in the morning.” She doesn’t even need to hear Poe’s ‘I always do’ to know that’s his response. It’s been a very long three weeks and she is once again wondering _why,_ exactly they had let Cassian talk them into this.

Rey signs the paperwork and accepts the key packet from Jannah, waving her phone at Ben. “Your husband says you can sleep on the couch in _my_ suite if you apologize.”

“No, my fucking husband says I can _only_ sleep on _your_ fucking couch if I _fucking_ apologize right _fucking_ now.”

Rey can’t help the smirk that twitches across her lips as she steps aside and gestures at the confused, possibly still terrified, and long-suffering hotel staff. She idly hopes they aren’t offended by his language. The security guard is standing beside Jannah, which Rey has chosen to take as a sign they (well, Ben) are no longer being considered a threat. “By all means.” Her phone vibrates with another text from Poe and she can’t hold back a small snort of laughter. “Oh, wait one second, he says I have to film it and send it to him so he can post it.”

Ben shakes his head, his own small smile fighting to find purchase on his lips before leaning on the counter. “I am sorry, truly, for my behavior. It’s been a very long day in the midst of a very long trip, I haven’t seen my husband or my son in three weeks, and I let it get to me. Still, none of that excuses my behavior when you are only trying to do your job, and I apologize.”

“Now thank her for doing what she can to help us and not having security throw us out on our asses,” Rey orders and he does so with another shake of his head. By the time they step into the elevator he has a small but genuine smile on his face, and it dawns on Rey she hasn’t seen that since the trip started.

The suite is clean and looks just like the others she’s seen in this (and other) chains. It’s a little colder than she expected, but then a lot of hotels are using motion sensor systems on their HVAC set up these days, to save energy and cut down on costs by only allowing the heat or air conditioning to run when the room is occupied. She drags her suitcase past the bathroom and towards the bedroom, intent on at least making Ben think she’s actually going to force him to sleep on the tiny pull out sofa, but she yelps at the shock of cold when she opens the door. Ben curses behind her and she turns to find him glaring at the thermostat. “It’s dead,” he grumbles before slumping into the nearest chair.

“Poor Jannah,” Rey mutters as she picks up the room phone and dials for the front desk. To her credit, Jannah doesn’t fall apart, instead apologizing (sincerely) for the inconvenience and saying she has a maintenance engineer here for another hour and will send him right away. Fortunately, the tech is as prompt as Jannah promised. Unfortunately, he can’t fix it, something Rey suspects as soon as he has the cover off the unit. She’s never dealt much with heating and cooling systems other than the ones in cars the summers she spent working in the garage for Plutt’s Towing and Salvage, but it’s not hard to see the unit is completely fried.

It’s already established that there are no other rooms anywhere, and it’s too cold for either of them to sleep in the bedroom. Jannah has kindly sent up a space heater (Rey is pretty sure it’s meant to be for staff use only, and probably the same one Jannah had been using to try and stay warm in the large, open space of the lobby), but thanks to the fact that the bedroom is on the outer portion of the building, even a good seal and insulation around the windows and outer wall can’t retain the heat the way the living room can. The bedroom was already far colder than the smaller living room by the time they arrived, and the small space heater can’t seem to combat the chill (they tried to give each other at least some semblance of privacy, really, Ben insistent he’d be warm enough on the sofa with the pile of extra blankets and setting up the rotating space heater as close to the bed as could be safe) but even with the heater by the bed she’d been shivering too much even with her coat and short boots still on.

At least the living room has a little residual warmth from the lights being left on and the hallway vents merrily puffing warm air into the public spaces of the building. The space heater wasn’t much help in the bedroom, but it is powerful enough to warm the living room to a comfortable enough temperature after a few minutes that they can finally shrug out of their coats and toe off their shoes.

They’ll have to share the sofa and she isn’t sure HOW that’s going to work exactly considering she is almost too tall for it herself, plus the extra blankets and the bulk of Ben’s body…but they have already argued about one of them sleeping on the floor or in one of the chairs with feet on the ottoman. Neither of them had held back on the insults (nor the volume at which they were delivered) and she’s a little surprised no one has complained about the noise level of the argument(s).

Between the suite shop offerings and Jannah’s offer to break into the breakfast supplies despite the fact that the kitchen and restaurant staff are gone and she technically isn’t even allowed in the kitchen, they even have an _interesting_ assortment of food for a late dinner, cold cereal and a few pastries, crisps, and a fruit and cheese platter (an amenity prepared per the night manager—before he left for the night and left Jannah to handle things by herself—for use in the event that they actually showed up to find only 1 of their rooms was available).

Food has helped some curb some of the urges for making short-tempered, cutting remarks and Rey claims the right to shower first, needing a minute _alone_ before she crawls out of her skin. She’s pretty sure that even a week ago they wouldn’t have been sniping at each other to this point and might have even been able to laugh about the situation.

Maybe.

She’d sent Armie a text when they arrived, and again after the fiasco with the room shortage and no heat, but she hasn’t gotten a response. It’s not surprising, really, he does have to go into the office in the morning. Still, hearing his voice would calm her and she’s tempted to call and wake him up, but he just mentioned yesterday that he’s been having trouble sleeping without her. Since he hasn’t replied to her she’s hoping that means he’s finally resting.

She pulls up one of her favorite playlists and sets the volume to a level she can hear over the water but (hopefully) won’t disturb anyone else in the hotel and then takes her time with the shower, conditioning her hair twice (her husband’s influence, though she suspects Poe and Ben are equally fanatical about haircare considering how glossy and well behaved their hair always seems), shaving her legs because it takes an extra fifteen minutes, and taking care to moisturize after she’s toweled off, justified, she thinks, because it’s WINTER in MINNESOTA and also it means she can stay behind the locked bathroom door that much longer. The jangling in her nerves hasn’t really gone away but she at least feels like maybe she can at least be in the same room as Ben without wanting to either throttle him or throw herself at him. Regardless, she can’t stay in the bathroom all night, so with a sigh she slips into some plain cotton knickers and a soft pair of flannel plaid pajama pants (Armie has a matching pair, and yes that’s exactly why she packed these) and one of her husband’s white tee shirts. She keeps a towel draped over her shoulders, hoping it will absorb most of the water from her hair and keep the shirt mostly dry.

Ben glances up at her from the chair, and she thinks he probably hasn’t moved from that spot. “Thought maybe you drowned.”

“Yep, and washed down the drain, took me 20 minutes to crawl back out.” He makes a face that’s almost a smile and he just looks…completely exhausted. Thinking about it, he’s looked like that the last few days, and the way he’s fidgeting in the chair and moving back and forth between drumming his fingers and bouncing his foot is making _her_ anxiety levels rise. “Ben, when’s the last time you actually slept?”

He just shrugs and forces himself to go still. “You should dry your hair.” OK, so he doesn’t want to discuss it.

She shrugs. “It will dry eventually.”

“Can…I can help?”

She’s confused for a moment, her response an eloquent “Huh?” which somehow does make him smile.

“Let me dry your hair.” He cuts her off before she can say anything. “I need to do _something_ before I lose it completely.”

“I…OK. Why not?” He stands for a moment, decidedly NOT looking at her, and then turns away, digging for something in his suitcase before disappearing into the bathroom. She checks her phone while she waits. Still no answer from Armie but she has a couple messages from Poe, asking how Ben is doing and whether he’s antsy (her response is a pointed ‘practically vibrating’), and then another message comes in asking if she will please let his husband play with her hair or paint her toenails and that…

**_That’s…a really fucking weird thing to ask for, Poe._ **

**Touching someone he trusts will help calm his anxiety. It’s a skin hunger thing. I’m worried about him. I don’t think he’s slept in days and if he can’t relax, he won’t sleep tonight…well this morning, either.**

**Sex followed by lots of cuddling works best but I’m not there and unless you’re willing to fuck him…wait, are you?**

She stares at the screen, her mouth hanging open in shock.

She starts to reply 3 times before giving up.

**Shit. REY! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent that. I haven’t slept in 3 days either, Bren’s having night terrors again.**

_**He’s already offered to dry my hair and I agreed. I’ll think about the toenails.** _

She carefully doesn’t mention anything else and Poe doesn’t bring it up again.

The shower runs for a few minutes, and then there’s the low hum of a hairdryer before Ben comes back out of the small bathroom carrying the hotel hairdryer and her brush. She can’t help a laugh when she notices he has a nearly identical pair of flannel PJ pants slung low on his hips. In fact, they may be the same ones, just more worn and faded from repeated washings. He’s wearing a white tank top, stretched tight across his chest and the view of his arms and shoulders sends her mind skittering back to the other thing Poe suggested. Suddenly Rey is almost too warm, and she has a hard time swallowing. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice, busying himself with moving one of the straight-backed chairs from the table and placing it near the little counter holding the coffee maker and microwave. He puts her brush, a wide tooth comb, and at least 3 different hair products on the counter before gesturing her over.

The first thing he does is run his hands through her hair, apparently checking to see how wet it still is, because then he takes the towel and works it over her head, using the material to squeeze water out of her tresses rather than rubbing at it the way she normally does. Then he uses his hands to work out some of the tangles and it’s…really nice, actually, relaxing even. He grabs one of the little bottles off the counter and works something that smells like coconut through the ends of her hair (leave in conditioner, he says when she asks about it) before taking up the comb and getting to work on the rest of the tangles. He’s careful not to pull too hard, and she can feel some of the tension in her spine slowly seep away. Next is an anti-frizz serum that smells vaguely fruity, maybe like apples or pears, and yet not. Finally, a heat protectant of some sort before he turns on the hairdryer.

She’s never really enjoyed having someone play with her hair quite this much. Of course, before Jyn and Cassian took her in she didn’t like being touched, period, and it had taken a while to get used to casual touching and affectionate hugs or pats or kisses on the cheek or forehead. Having her hair cut or styled had always been something she suffered through. Even now, her husband plays with her hair and she doesn’t mind so much, but it’s only because it’s usually a precursor to sex or something he does absently as they cuddle together after.

Of course, that _might_ be the problem now, because the heat of the hairdryer and the sensation of Ben’s hand in her hair, twisting the locks around his fingers, that’s all _doing things_ to her that are the opposite of relaxing.

The hairdryer switches off and he cards his fingers through her hair again, massaging her scalp this time and she has to bite back a moan. Then his thumbs trace down her neck and over her shoulders, a firm pressure, and it’s like he’s hit a switch that makes her entire body…pliant. Only one other person has ever been able to do that and she…oh dear this is a problem. “I think you were as tense as I’ve been.” His voice is soft, and he rubs at her shoulders again, almost absently, before his hands move into her hair again, and it only takes a moment for her to realize he’s deftly braiding it and even this is almost too much. The gentle tugging at her scalp as he weaves the strands together is just firm enough to make her wish he’d pull a little harder and she’s horrified to realize she’s opened her mouth to ask him to do just that. She bites down on her tongue to stop the impulse.

He’s done with her hair and busy putting things away (because he’s Ben and apparently Ben can’t just leave something undone until morning…it’s another thing he has in common with Armie). Rey stands on slightly shaky legs and stretches. She turns around and finds him _watching_ her, hands tense on the back of the chair before he picks it up and carries it back to the table. Once that’s done Rey busies herself removing the cushions from the sofa to actually open it, something they had avoided so far under the guise of keeping the small amount of open space in the room clear. When she glances at her phone, she’s surprised to see it’s only about 2AM, it feels so much later. Still, 2AM is not exactly early and it’s like the confirmation of the time is enough for a crushing wave of weariness to come crashing down over her.

Ben braves the cold of the bedroom to retrieve the pillows and the duvet from the larger bed before helping her pile everything onto the thin mattress. They decide to sleep on top of the extra bedding Jannah had sent to the room, both pretty sure that, although the thin mattress is decent for what it is, they are going to need the extra padding.

Probably due to the utter exhaustion, crawling under the covers beside him isn’t nearly as awkward as she had thought it might be. She expects to pass out pretty much as soon as she hits the pillow, so of course she’s hit with a sudden jolt of adrenaline. She tries to hold still in hopes that Ben can at least rest but her mind is whirling, and she can’t seem to calm her breathing. Her eyes are watering as an overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-recrimination pulls at her for the traitorous way her body has reacted to this man who is her _friend_ and is happily married to her _other friend_ and is most definitely _not her husband_.

Maybe if she hadn’t been lost in the middle of her mini panic attack she would have noticed before a whole hour passed that Ben was having as much if not more trouble going to sleep, but the third time he flips over and punches the pillow into submission before folding it in half and flopping down again she finally gives up her own battle for unconsciousness, sitting up and reaching for the TV remote. She has to laugh a little at the way he blinks at the sudden glare of the screen before turning to her with a sheepish expression. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“You didn’t,” she is quick to assure him before turning her attention to the channel listing. Sadly, there is no option to purchase movies and most of the channels are out due to the storm. They are left with a local station currently showing infomercials, the last 5 minutes of an old South Park episode, or an edited-for-time-and-content version one of the first movies ever released starring Kylo Ren. It had been a hit (of course) but Ben absolutely _loathes_ every role he’d taken on under Snoke’s management. “Well, that’s a bust,” she mutters, turning the TV back off. She leans back and stares at the ceiling, trying to think of something to pass the time that does not involve breaking her marriage vows. She turns on her side, using her left arm to prop her head up. “So…wanna paint my toenails?”

He seems surprised and she’s pretty sure he’s blushing but it’s too dark to tell for sure. “Poe told you about that, huh?”

“He suggested it was an option that might help pass the time and prove to be relaxing.” She flops back over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “He gave me a list. Something about skin hunger and anxiety.”

He’s definitely shifting around uncomfortably now. “A list?”

“Yep. Said you need to touch someone you trust, and I should let you play with my hair or paint my toenails because he’s not here to have sex with you and he’s pretty sure I won’t.” She’s not sure why she actually said that, any of that, but he jerks as if someone has struck him, nearly falling off the sofa bed and now he really _does_ look panicked. He scrambles out of the bed and by the time she gets up and turns on a light he’s sitting in the floor, long legs folded up in front of him and his face in his hands.

“He _really_ shouldn’t have told you any of that,” he groans, and something about his tone scares her a little. He sounds, for lack of a better descriptor, positively ill, and his hands are fisting in his hair tightly enough she’s worried he’s actually going to pull it out by the handful, and it _hurts_ to see. Without any real plan of what she’ll do when she gets there, she practically launches herself off the bed and across the room.

She keeps her tone gentle, coaxing, almost as if he were a frightened animal (and it’s not that far off the mark right now), reaches out and gently but firmly grabs his wrists, stilling his fingers and stroking her thumbs over the backs of his hands. She keeps her grasp loose, easily broken, because when she has panic attacks she can’t handle being touched, not right off and everyone’s different but, well, she and Ben seem to have a lot in common. “Hey, it’s okay, nothing to panic over. He was just worried about you. I didn’t mean to upset you. I want to help. Let me help.” He’s let his hair go and he just watches her as she lowers herself to sit in front of him, never letting go of his hands. By the time she’s on the floor he’s still wild-eyed but his breathing isn’t so erratic, and he laces their fingers together. Eventually he stretches his legs out to either side of her and she drapes hers over his thighs so she can move closer. They’re both absently playing with one another’s fingers, and it’s a moment of calm, badly needed although neither of them was willing to admit it before.

They’re both too stubborn to admit when they need help, as they are constantly being reminded by their respective husbands ( _pot, meet kettle_ ).

He’s still just watching her in that intense way he has, as if he’s delving into the depths of her soul, rooting out all her secrets. She licks her lips, needing to break the silence and this new tension that’s completely different and yet somehow all the same, but afraid of saying something that will send one of them spiraling again. “Tell me about boarding school. The one in Switzerland.”

“You mean tell you about Armitage.”

“If you want. Or about you, or about the food…just talk to me.”

So he does. Some of it she’s heard before, but that was from Armie’s perspective. While the two men viewed most of the events of their shared past with striking similarity, there are some things that change the entire story. They hadn’t been friends, exactly, more allies against the other students who thought they could get away with bullying the pair. “He never lies, you know?” She nods her agreement. It’s a trait she values. “No matter how unpleasant the truth, he never sugar coated it, never held it back because it was uncomfortable. No lies by omission, sometimes no fucking tact,” and they both laugh at the truth of that. “But he was probably the only person in my life who never lied or hid things from me. If he thought it mattered, he said it, and I never had to wonder what he meant. I probably always loved him a little bit for that.” And that has Rey blinking a few times. She’d known her husband had been his first kiss, and she suspected the fondness that still crept into Armie’s tone when he spoke of his school days may have been a little more than platonic friendship, but to have confirmation that there were ever feelings on Ben’s side is something she’s not sure she’s ready to consider. He’s watching her carefully now, and she thinks maybe he didn’t mean to tell her that, so she just offers a gentle smile.

“Your turn, tell me something about Rey.”

She looks down, staring at their still-joined hands. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, where you got the idea for the Final Warrior series, why you love peanut butter but refuse to keep it in the house, how you met your parents. Whatever.” He shrugs and leans back against the wall again, studying her from under his eyelashes.

She takes a breath. She hadn’t realized he even knew about her peanut butter thing. She supposed that was a good place to start. “When I was little, like 3 or 4, before my parents—my birth parents—before they left me, peanut butter was what I lived on. They kept a jar on the table, and a couple of spoons, and when I was hungry, I’d get it down and gorge myself. It made me ill more than once, and I still don’t know if that was just because I ate too much or because they never washed the spoon I ate from. Our flat, it wasn’t the cleanest. There were bugs, and I had a mattress on the floor instead of a bed. Sometimes in the winter there was no heat and…anyway, after they abandoned me and I was in foster care and group homes, money was still tight, you know? And peanut butter was a source of protein that was cheaper than meat or cheese or yoghurt. I can’t tell you how happy I was the year Finn and I were placed in the same home. He’s allergic so they weren’t allowed to keep anything with peanuts in the house. Living there was the best 7 months!”

“Finn? Your flight attendant friend, right?”

“One and the same. We try to stay in touch, but we don’t get to see one another often. Anyway, between just having it way too often as a kid and then because of Finn, I swore I’d never keep any in the house. I’ll still eat it sometimes, but I won’t bring it home.”

He seems to be trying to decide if he regrets asking the question.

“When I moved in with Jyn and Cassian, I told them about that and the first thing they did was go through the pantry with me and throw away not just anything with peanut butter but anything with peanuts or peanut oil. They said it was because their house was my home too, and they wanted Finn to be able to safely come over any time he wanted. It was only a few months later that they tried to adopt us both, even though we were going to age out of the system in less than two years. Something happened and only my adoption went through, but they were still his able to be appointed as his foster parents and they loved us both. I guess maybe it’s weird, that my parents aren’t that much older than me, more like older siblings, or a young aunt and uncle, but they still take care of us and they let us call them Mum and Dad if we want to. It’s bloody hilarious watching strangers do the mental gymnastics of trying to figure out ages and how they could possibly be my parents, much less Finn’s.”

“What _is_ the age difference?”

“Jyn’s twelve years older than me, Cassian’s another 3 years older than her.”

“So, they’re basically my age.”

She cocks her head to one side. “I never thought about that. You’re right, Jyn’s about a year older than you and Armie, and Cassian’s Poe’s age.” He can see the mirth in her eyes and unlinks their fingers, pressing one hand over her mouth to cut her off before she can make a crack about him being old. Feeling playful, she licks his hand, only intending to make him remove it.

“SHIT!” He jerks back, eyes wide and breath heaving, cracking his head against the wall behind him in the process. “Ow! God damn it!” She just stares, eyes wide as he winces and rubs the back of his head and then the absolutely absurd urge to laugh overtakes her and she can’t stop the fit of giggles that has her eyes streaming as she lies on the floor, unable to catch her breath. Hysterics. She’s in hysterics and it’s not funny, it’s _NOT_ but she can’t stop laughing. She tries to gasp out an apology, but the words are strangled by the laughter and she can _feel_ him closing himself off from her again. She doesn’t want that.

She scrambles over onto all fours and pushes herself up slowly, core aching from the laughing fit and joints stiff from sitting so long on the floor.

“Jesus Rey, I thought we were friends. I never imagined you’d be so… cruel.”

She turns back around with a gasp. He hasn’t moved and he’s staring up at her with a mixture of hurt and something else, a heavy heat in his eyes and she can’t move. Can’t look away. Can’t even speak. With what she can only describe as a growl he pulls himself to a standing position (with less trouble than she’d had, so much for him being ‘old’) and grabs her arms. He’s not hurting her, but it’s a firm hold she can’t escape without hurting at least one of them. “I don’t keep anything from Poe, and he never should have told you I have feelings for you, but what’s done is done. But you can’t do this shit. Don’t tease me. It hurts.”

If she thought, he’d been vulnerable before she was wrong. He’s laid himself bare and she can’t … well she just can’t. It’s too much to process. “F-feelings? For me?” And then he does let her go, cursing as he sits down on the edge of the bed. “Poe didn’t say anything about feelings. He made what I thought was a bad joke about us having sex because he’s not with you.” She shows him the text exchange with Poe from earlier. “Guess I understand his response better now, though. He thought he’d messed up by letting me know but I’m just a clueless idiot.” She sits beside him, but not close enough to touch. “I’m sorry, Ben, I really didn’t know, and I never meant to…I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” He rubs a weary hand over his face and nods, but he doesn’t speak, and she has a sinking feeling that the progress they had made is all gone now. She’s proven right when he starts pacing, making tight circles in the short hallway leading to the bedroom door. “Ben?” He doesn’t seem to hear her, doesn’t stop, and he’s pulling his hair again. She can see the muscles in his arms and shoulders twitching. “Ben, stop!” She’s close enough to touch him now, and she does, placing one hand in the center of his back and he doesn’t just stop, he freezes, at first not even breathing. Tentatively, she wraps her arms around him, pressing her face between his shoulder blades, whispering against the fabric of the tank top. “What can I do? What do you need that I can actually give you without breaking my marriage vows; without breaking yours?”

He’s not answering her, but his hands have come up to cover hers where she’s locked them across his stomach. “I don’t know.”

They stand like that for a moment, until he extricates himself and goes into the bathroom, closing the door gently. She hears the sink tap open, water rushing out, and a shuddering gasp. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. She brushes them away angrily and goes for her phone, pulling up her favorites list of contacts and selecting the third name. Poe. Poe Dameron-Solo is her 3rd most often used contact. Right behind Armitage Hux and … Ben Solo-Dameron.

Shit.

Shit _ShitSHIT!_

Poe answers sleepily, just before the call can roll into voicemail. “Rey? What’s happened? Is everything okay?”

“No…no, it’s not. I messed up, Poe, I really messed up and I don’t know how to fix it.” And she’s a sobbing mess now. Somehow, she brokenly tells him enough between sobs and great, gulping gasps for air that he realizes what happened.

“He thought I told you.”

“Yes.”

“I mean I guess I did, sort of anyway.”

“But I didn’t catch that, Poe. I didn’t get it and he thought I was being deliberately cruel, and I need you to tell me how to fix this. What can I do?”

Poe sighs and it sounds like he’s rubbing his hand over his face. “I have an idea, but you aren’t going to like it.”

“Poe, please don’t even think about asking me to fuck your husband right now.”

“I’m not, okay, not exactly.”

“What do you mean, _not exactly_?”

She can hear him suck in a breath and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to tell her what he’s thinking any more than she wants to hear it. “Iwantyoutostaywithhimwhilewehavephonesex.”

She doesn’t speak, she can’t, can only manage a squeak and a series of choking sounds.

“Funny, I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing he’s going to say.”

She squeaks again, clears her throat, and this time manages to bite out a few words. “Poe, are you really asking me to sit here and watch while you and Ben have phone sex?”

“No!” He pauses, and she knows this is going to be another thing she really. Does. Not. Want. To. Hear.

“No, I’m not asking you to watch, Rey.”

He pauses for another breath.

“I’m asking you to help.”


	2. Helping Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey does Ben and Poe a favor. Ben pays her back...in spades.
> 
> _Ben’s nuzzling the side of her face and whispering praise and nonsense to her when she blinks and attempts to lift her head before falling back to the mattress in a boneless heap. There’s another voice, one she knows, and she snuggles deeper into the bedclothes with a contented sigh. “You’re not giving out on me already, are you? We have a lot of night left.”_   
>  _She tries, she really does, but the only thing she can manage is “Hm.”_   
>  _There’s very pleased male laughter, from 2 directions. “Solo, I told you NOT to break her.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, took a little longer than expected thanks to adulting, and then one chapter tried to become 2 because I must have plot, apparently (at least a little).

“Poe, I’m going to need you to say that again because I know there is no way in hell I heard what I thought I did.”

“You heard me Rey. I’m asking you, as someone who cares about both of us, but especially Ben, to help alleviate his skin hunger. It’s not really a sex thing, well I mean this specifically is because it’s what works for Ben. But I’m not asking you do to anything you wouldn’t normally.”

She scoffs and he cuts her off.

“Apart from the ‘while we’re having phone sex’ part. Just…I don’t know, hold him, rub his back, play with his hair.”

“Poe, those aren’t things I normally do with _your husband_.”

“Yeah, yeah, you both hate casual touching. That’s why we’re in this situation, you know. I’d put money on you being almost as bad as he is.” She doesn’t answer, doesn’t have to. She’s definitely been ready to crawl out of her skin for a while now, and she’s starting to suspect her anxiety has been feeding off Ben’s and vice versa. “Rey, I know you’ve both been trying to pretend you aren’t attracted to each other but I’ve talked to Armitage about this, hell I’ve _seen_ you and Ben in the same room. That’s all it takes.” She wants to protest but he won’t let her. “Sweetpea, no one is saying you _have_ to do anything. You asked me what would fix this. I’m answering.”

Rey leans her head back against the wall, staring up blankly. “You’ve talked to Armie. About this. This exact thing?”

“Not exactly this, I don’t think ANY of us ever imagined I’d ask you to help me have phone sex with my husband. But yes, I have talked to your husband about the possibility that at some point you might have sex with Ben. We’re okay with it.”

“How can you…How could he…Why didn’t…Ugh, I can’t think.”

“Rey, open your suitcase, your checked bag, and get the emergency kit Armitage packed for you and said you’d never even look at.”

“How-?”

“I told you, we talked. Now go look.”

Rey’s hands are shaking as she digs through her suitcase, moving aside her laundry (oh yes, she needs to deal with that before she’s out of knickers again) and retrieving the small vanity case. From past experience she expects extra toothpaste, enough laundry detergent for a couple loads of clothes, sewing kit, possibly extra socks and underwear, and maybe a book to read. All of that is there, but tucked away in the bottom she also finds a box of condoms and a note. It’s written in bold red ink, the spiky script unmistakably her husband’s.

‘I trust you.’ It says. ‘Don’t be afraid of what you want. You’re my endgame, always.’

Ben comes out of the bathroom to find her a sobbing mess on the floor and Poe yelling through the phone because he can hear her crying but she won’t answer him. Ben wraps one arm around Rey, sitting down on the floor beside her and dragging her into his lap before tucking her into his chest while he juggles her phone with the other, nearly dropping it twice before he can actually hear anything or, more importantly, be heard. “The fuck did you say to her, Poe?”

Rey’s sobs have subsided into hiccups and she’s just… completely spent for the moment. She stays there, pressed against his chest, _feeling_ the rumble of his voice as she talks with Poe. It’s a nice feeling. Safe. Still incredibly arousing—being near Ben always is, but right now she’s choosing to focus on the safe aspect.

“Right…uh huh…I highly doubt that…and are you telling me she actually agreed to this? ...That’s what I thought. Listen, Poe, I love you, and I get that you want to be helpful, but sweetheart—fuck off!” Rey’s pretty sure he hung up on Poe mid-sentence.

“I’ll do it, you know,” she whispers against his chest and he jerks in surprise. She rubs her cheek against his chest before sitting back to look at him and he’s staring at her in shock, mouth hanging open. He can’t seem to speak but there is at least one part of him that feels absolutely no hesitation and she can’t help a little wiggle against him. His gasp is enough to make her giggle, just once, and then she wraps her arms around him and presses her face back into her chest. “They’ve been plotting.”

“Hm?”

“Poe and Armie. Apparently they talked about you and me, before this trip. I feel like them sending just the two of us was a set up.” She pauses, looking up at him again. “We’re being handled. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s how we work. Armie puts something in front of my face and then just waits for me to notice…wait, that didn’t come out right.” She makes a frustrated gesture. “You know what I mean.”

“Oddly enough, I think I do.” He laughs and hugs her to him.

“So.”

“So?”

“You gonna call your husband back?”

There’s a lot of talking when Ben finds his phone and calls Poe back, activating the speaker option so Rey can be a part of the conversation. There’s definitely a fair bit of negotiating, considering Rey and Ben have been _left out_ of any prior discussions.

Poe is adamant he NOT be on speaker during.

Ben wants her hair loose, wants to feel it against his skin. He also claims he absolutely cannot look at Rey if they are going to do this—she doesn’t miss his muttered comment about things being over too soon if he does, but she lets them all pretend she didn’t hear.

Rey insists that Ben’s pants stay as _on_ as possible—at least until she can talk to Armie herself about boundaries and clearly communicating with his _wife_.

Poe insists that no matter what, even if they don’t do this at all, Rey and Ben need to at least get rid of some clothing and cuddle and _sleep_ and on that point at least they all seem to agree.

And then the talking is done and Rey finds herself stretched along the tiny mattress, pressed against Ben’s back. She can almost make out the murmur of Poe’s voice through the earpiece but it’s just a low hum, not loud enough for her to make out any words. Ben definitely can though, and whatever Poe is saying, it’s _working_. Already, Ben can’t seem to form words, reduced to whimpers and moans and a whining growl that sends a flood of heat directly to her core. He has his shirt off and suddenly it’s not _enough_ and she _needs_ his skin against hers. He makes a noise when she sits up and tugs her shirt off, tossing it to the floor, before she stretches out on her side and presses into him again. When the lace trim on her bra scratches against his back he whimpers, and she’s glad she put it back on before starting this because that _sound_ …she wants to hear it again, and often.

She can feel the bed shaking with his movements, watches in fascination as the muscles in his forearm bunch, but with the way they’re positioned she can’t see anything else, and right now that’s OK, this is about Ben. Rey presses her face into his shoulder blades, rubbing her cheek over his skin and finally, finally she lets her hands start to wander. Her left hands trails up into his hair, tugging just a bit before she scratches her blunt nails against his scalp and then grasping a handful of his hair and pulling again, rewarded with a low groan and a hissed “Fuck, Rey, do that again.”

Her right hand trails along his shoulder, down to his elbow before drifting to trace his sides. She keeps a light pressure to her touch, she doesn’t want to tickle him, not right now anyway. She presses a chaste kiss to his back, right between his shoulder blades, and then allows herself to indulge in one of her favorite things, dragging her tongue up along his spine to the base of his neck before pressing her teeth into his flesh and his breath comes in a stuttering gasp as his hand strokes over himself faster and the _sound…_ the sound is properly filthy and she’s pretty sure she’s soaked through both her knickers and the fabric of her sleep pants.

Rey moves her left hand, seeking his where hit arm is tucked under the pillow. Luckily his arm is bent enough she can actually reach his hand and she laces their fingers together, gasping as he flexes his hand, making a fist and effectively locking her fingers between his. Her right hand has settled at his waist, and now she moves again, inching down until it rests on the crest of his hip and she presses, massaging there and using her thumb to trace the ridge of bone. She’s rewarded by a jerk of his hips and oh, it won’t be long now.

She doesn’t move her hand any farther, just what she’s already done was dangerously close to crossing over the line she herself had defined before they started this, but she doesn’t really regret it. They just need to renegotiate for next time.

Wait.

_Next time?_

She’s a little surprised to realize she wants to do this again. Not just general “sexy times with Ben Solo” but this exact scene, with Poe whispering filth in his ear while he touches himself, and she excites and frustrates them both with touches that skirt the line of where they both want her hands, coming close but never actually there.

Rey squirms against Ben, dropping her right leg over his hip and thigh, tucking her foot behind his knee and along his calf, and hips molded to his as she drags her teeth along his shoulder blade as her right arm wraps over his chest, holding as tightly as she can and Ben comes with a shout.

She can feel the spurt of warm wetness over her hand and forearm and Ben is trembling, no, that’s too weak a word, he is positively _shaking_ in her arms as he struggles to catch his breath. She flexes the fingers of her left hand, wanting to squeeze his hand in reassurance but it’s the best she can do against the steel of his grip. Her right hand is still across his body, fingers making little circles against his skin which makes him shiver. She doesn’t mind the cooling, tacky feel of his release on their skin, but apparently Ben does because the first thing he does when he can move again is grab a towel he’d placed by the bed and clean them both up before tucking himself back into his pants and flopping onto his back with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he whispers.

She snuggles back in, pressing against him and using his chest as a (firm but comfortable) pillow. “Don’t be. ‘s a compliment.” Despite her own arousal practically running down her thighs, she just feels…lazy—content—snuggled against him like this. His fingers make their way into her hair and she nearly purrs. He shifts and she’s pretty sure he just kissed the top of her head. “We’ll have to do this again, sometime,” she murmurs against him.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm…fun.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one that’s supposed to be sleepy now.”

“Long day.”

“Long fucking week.”

“That too.” She shifts a little against him, draping her leg over him again before freezing and making a face as the damp fabric between her legs rubs uncomfortably.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just,” she makes a vague gesture. “I need to change. Chafing.” His laughter follows her into the bathroom. It’s a good sound.

She’s managed to clean up and donned fresh knickers and the t-shirt (no bra this time, not for sleeping) when she hears her video message alert go off followed by low voices in the next room. It has to be Armie. Relief floods through her, coupled with renewed irritation at being manipulated. Deciding to take her time and make him wait she washes her face and grabs her toothbrush. As soon as the bristles touch her tongue she gags and barely makes it to the toilet. She knows they can hear her in the next room and she doesn’t want Ben coming in here but she can’t exactly tell him that when he knocks. When she gags again rather than answer she dimly registers the click of the door opening and then he’s there, holding her hair back, rubbing her back and whispering soothing nonsense.

When she’s sure it’s over she’s trembling too hard to stand so she slumps weakly against the tub and watches, bleary-eyed, as he flushes the toilet and then wets a washrag and brings it over. She lets him wipe down her face and neck. When he picks her up she realizes her phone is still on the counter, her husband’s worried face on the screen. She reaches out—well, she tries—but her hand flops weakly onto Ben’s arm. She needn’t have been concerned, as he plucks the device off the counter and places it in her hand, somehow still able to maintain both his hold on her and his balance.

“Are you all right, little dove?”

Oh, Armie must be worried. He never calls her that. “Fine,” she says weakly. “Just tired, and we haven’t exactly been able to eat real food on a regular schedule.”

The look on his face is the one she always thought he reserved only for her, but she realizes she’s still in Ben’s arms so maybe it’s not _only_ for her and that idea…doesn’t bother her at all. It’s tender, and she feels better just seeing it. This look, this is the reason she married him. He blinks, face reverting to his usual, more reserved mask. “I’ve spoken to Poe, and briefly with Ben.” She blinks at him, tired brain having trouble following the conversation. “I-we-Poe and I owe you both an apology. We should have been more clear, and made an effort to talk things out between all four of us.” He’s uncomfortable, that explains the change in his demeanor. Armitage Hux is never wrong (even when he is) and he rarely apologizes.

“I forgive you, Armie. I know you were just trying to take care of me, the way you always do. But from now on you have to talk to _me_ before you do shit like that.” She’s not too tired to glare.

“It won’t happen again, Sweeting.” He’s trying not to smile but she knows that twitch on his lips.

“Don’t gloat. It’s unattractive.”

“Oh?” His tone’s dropped and she shivers as he shifts in his desk chair, settling back and giving her a stare that promises all the dark and lovely wickedness her heart desires.

She yawns and he blinks, expression going back to that of a concerned, doting husband again. “You need to sleep. We’ll finish this later.”

“This?”

“Yes, sweeting, there’s a matter of… _reciprocation_ …to attend to.” Her body is awake now, and she knows he’s done this on purpose. It’s a game they play, drawing everything out, but it’s almost cruel right now, sending her to bed _wanting_ when he _knows_ she’ll be so very close to Ben and not allowed to act on her desires until whenever later is and he laughs at the pout on her face.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my good girl. Now, off to bed with you, give the phone to Solo please.”

“Love you, Armie,” she mumbles as Ben lowers her to the bed and takes the phone from her.

“And I you, my goddess.”

She’s almost asleep by the time Ben settles himself into a chair, their voices soothing her into vague, pleasant dreams. She wakes enough to blink when Ben slides in beside her, gathering her into his arms, but it’s effortless to drift back off. Despite the noise around them of other hotel guests waking and staff going about their day she sleeps more soundly than she has in weeks. The only other sound that intrudes on her rest is the jarring ring of the room phone, but Ben gets up to answer it and she snuggles back into the nest of blankets and pillows, cuddling into the pocket of warmth he left there. She’s just drifting off again when he says, “No, I understand, that won’t be necessary.” She’s already asleep when he climbs back under the blankets.

When Rey finally awakens fully, it’s to the protestations of a very full bladder and the grumbling of a very empty stomach. She groans and stretches, her abdominal muscles aching from earlier but otherwise surprisingly relaxed and well-rested. The sofa mattress and pile of blankets had been surprisingly comfortable. There’s a low masculine chuckle and she turns, finding Ben on his side, head propped on his hand, and watching her with an affectionate smile. It seems like the natural thing to kiss him so she leans up to do so, only to be stopped by his hand on her shoulder. She blinks in confusion, a little hurt at his rejection.

“Sunshine, I’d love nothing more than to kiss you senseless and then show you exactly what all I have wanted to do to you for months now, but I am under very strict instructions from your husband.”

She can feel herself flushing. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He flops onto his back with a groan.

“What instructions, exactly?”

He folds his arms behind his head. “Hm, no kissing, no intimate touching, no removal of clothing-yours or mine-except for showers or getting dressed, and I am to feed you something with protein, preferably meat, before we call him back _later_.”

She makes no effort to hide the delicious shiver that makes her toes curl and she gives in to a little wiggle of happiness.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he moans, covering his eyes. She’s tempted to do it again but her stomach chooses that moment to make an angry noise of protest.

“What time is it?”

“Around 8, I think.”

“PM?”

He nods. “So I slept-”

“About 15 hours.”

“I can’t recall the last time I slept more than 5 hours in a night, and usually not all at once.” She struggles to a seated position, looking down at him. “What about you?”

He opens one eye and peeks out at her. “14 hours. You’re a very good teddy bear.” She feels a pleased blush creeping over her face and neck. She can’t ignore the demands of her body any longer and slips from the bed, shivering just a bit at the lower temperature in the room. The space heater is still merrily working away but Ben under a blanket is clearly far more effective at warming small spaces. She looks at the space heater again and gasps. She’d completely forgotten about the whole room issue in the middle of the emotional shitstorm they’d wandered into last night (this morning?).

“Did the hotel management call? About the heat or another room?”

“Yep.” She just stares at him and he smirks before continuing. “Three different managers called. Thanks to the storm they don’t have one although they offered to take one from someone else who hasn’t come in yet, and they can’t get the parts to fix the heater until the snow lets up, either. I told them we’d survived the night, we can probably make it through one more. They seemed very relieved.” She’s just watching him, eyes roaming over his chest with a growing hunger unrelated to the one her stomach keeps announcing—loudly. He seems to enjoy her watching him, so she lets him see in her eyes, on her face, how much she likes the view. She shakes her head, continuing her original trek to the bathroom. “They did offer us a room service voucher.” He laughs at the rumble her stomach makes as if on cue.

She’s slipped into a pair of yoga pants and a different t-shirt by the time the room service order arrives. She wanted a big, juicy steak but after Ben had gently but firmly pointed out that they didn’t know for sure what made her sick that morning and that her stomach may not be able to handle it she grudgingly agreed to chicken. That seemed to have been the right decision, though, and she had to force herself not to inhale it along with the roasted potatoes and sautéed vegetables.

She could do this.

Small bites.

Chew thoroughly.

Drink some water and wait.

Ben is watching her and not bothering to hide his grin, but he hasn’t started laughing so that’s something, at least.

“Still okay?” She nods, smiles.

“I’m fine. Just trying to pace myself.”

“Mm, good plan.” His eyes are hooded as he watches her over the top of his water glass before taking a sip. “Don’t want it to be over too soon.”

And now she doesn’t care about food. He knows it, based on the smirk as he stabs another bite of his own meal (another chicken dish, at least he hadn’t decided to torment her by getting a steak when he didn’t let her). She watches his mouth as he eats, fascinated by the shape of his mouth. His tongue darts out and licks his lower lip, chasing some stray sauce and she drops her fork. This time he does laugh. “You are _very_ good for my ego.”

She makes a face and he laughs again, happy with the response he provoked. Once their plates are clear he motions to the remaining items on the room service tray. “Dessert or _dessert_.” She squirms in her seat and sends a longing look at the decadent chocolate mousse, seeming almost pained when she looks back at him. “So, _dessert_ then.” He picks up the mousse. “Go call Hux, we’ll save this for later.”

It takes three tries to get her phone unlocked and the wait before he answers is interminable but when the video loads on the screen she thinks again that he’s one of the most beautiful things she has ever seen, asshole smirk and all. “At last, sleeping beauty awakes. I take it you rested well?”

“Mhm. 15 hours of sleep, apparently.” There’s a clatter near the door as Ben puts the tray and empty plates outside the door then flips the security latch and engages the dead bolt.

“You needed it.” She’s on the small bed on her stomach, feet in the air and chin resting on her hands. Her phone is propped along the back of the couch, wedged down in a way that won’t make it prone to falling (hopefully), and the look on Armie’s face when Ben climbs onto the bed and kneels beside her…she wishes she could have taken a screenshot of that look. He’s been looking as forward to this call as she has.

Armitage blinks and licks his lips. “Solo.”

“Hux.”

There’s weight to their words, so much said in just their surnames, and something like jealousy tries to rise up in her before her lust smashes it to pieces and she shivers and makes a little purring sound.

“Good God man, what have you done to my wife?” It’s playful, and Rey shifts against the bedding, squirming as her skin suddenly feels too tight.

“This is all on you, Hux, you’re the one that said I wasn’t allowed to touch her.”

“Is that the trouble, Sweeting? Do you need him to touch you?” She nods with a whimper and Hux sits back. He’s in his desk chair again, and she knows it’s because his desktop has the best monitor, both size and picture quality. “Use your words, Rey. Ask for what you want.”

“Please sir, may he touch me now?” Ben makes a growling sound behind her.

“Very well, since you asked so nicely. Hands and knees, darling, facing me.” She scrambles up, limbs trembling in her need, and then his attention is on Ben. “You may pull her pants down but only to her knees.” Rey makes a mewling sound of protest and he smirks. She won’t be able to move the way she wants, won’t be able to spread her legs any farther than the stretch of the cotton, and that alone will have her desperate. After 6 years of marriage her husband knows her body well, and he’s using that knowledge against her (and admittedly for Ben’s benefit) now. “Hands only…for now.” Ben grasps the fabric at her hips and drags it down slowly and she moans as she is exposed to the air.

“Beautiful.” Ben is staring at her, she can see him in the tiny little panel showing their side of the video feed. She watches as his hand comes up and rests lightly on her hip before stroking across her ass and then down along her thighs. He does it again and her eyes lose focus. “So wet,” he whispers and she isn’t sure if he even meant to say it out loud as his hand moves down, slides between her legs to cup her. He doesn’t do anything else, just covers her with his hand and she can’t _not_ move, hips jerking, trying to grind down against him but he’s always just that hair’s breadth away.

“Please. PLEASE Ben, _pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_ …”

“You know, I haven’t don’t this with a woman in years. Maybe I don’t remember how…” He drops his hand away from her with a wicked smirk and Rey moans. Her head drops and she’s panting, gasping for air as she writhes, body too tightly wound. She wants to scream.

She’s about to break, safeword ready to cross her lips, except then he’ll just _stop_ and she definitely doesn’t want that.

“Oh, nicely done,” Hux breathes, catching the smirk on Ben’s lips. “Best give her what she wants, Solo, can’t have you breaking my wife.” She can hear him moving, sense the change in air pressure and then twin sensations of his hand finally, finally making contact with her dripping folds as his teeth press into her right hip DO make her scream. It’s short, more a yelp of surprise and then her hips are moving again, rolling against him, seeking more pressure as he strokes over her folds, touching everywhere _except_ where she wants him to and it’s maddening. This man, these men, may be the death of her but she doesn’t think she’ll mind.

“I said hands only, Solo.”

“You know I’ve never been good at taking orders, Hux,” he says, face still pressed against her hip.

“Indeed.”

Rey gasps as he finally strokes one finger over her clit before tracing back over her lips and pressing, torturously slowly, inside her, pumping slowly in and out. She’s rolling her hips against him again and he splays the other hand across her lower back, pressing down until she’s flat against the bed except for the pillow he has apparently placed to keep her hips raised and then she realizes he’s _holding her down_ , stopping her from moving and she finds herself making an angry growling noise. When he lowers his face down, lips tracing the shell of her ear, she’s tempted to turn and bite him but she doesn’t, instead focusing on the delicious sensations of the change in angle and the press as he adds another finger inside her, and now he’s still holding her in place but he’s not teasing her anymore, curling his fingers just so and setting a pace that’s almost too much yet not enough. The weight of his other hand leaves her and she can _move_ again and then she feels his breath on her ear and the things he’s whispering, oh just his words threaten to be enough to send her flying over the precipice. She glances up and realizes he’s whispering to her, touching _her_ , but his eyes are locked on her husbands image on the tiny screen of her phone and Armie, he’s staring right back and he whines as her inner muscles clench.

She _really_ wishes they were all in the same room right now. Ben must realize her focus is drifting and he nips at the shell of her ear, ignoring the rumble of his name coming over the phone’s speaker, a warning tone, and then he does _something_ , twisting his wrist somehow and then adding a third finger inside her and that’s it, that’s the center of her universe now.

She’s so caught up in the thrust of those long fingers, the feeling of his lips against her ear, that it’s almost a surprise when his other hand slips down under her, stroking circles over her clit. Her body goes taut and she’s so _close_ but she can’t tell him, can’t form the single word. Somehow he manages to coordinate a flex of the fingers inside her with a stroke over her clit and the press of his teeth just below her ear and then she comes hard, body clasping around his fingers. She sees spots and then her vision actually goes dark for a split second. She thinks she might have screamed but she isn’t really sure.

Ben’s nuzzling the side of her face and whispering praise and nonsense to her when she blinks and attempts to lift her head before falling back to the mattress in a boneless heap. There’s another voice, one she knows, and she snuggles deeper into the bedclothes with a contented sigh. “You’re not giving out on me already, are you? We have a lot of night left.”

She tries, she really does, but the only thing she can manage is “Hm.”

There’s very pleased male laughter, from 2 directions. “Solo, I told you NOT to break her.”

The world shifts, light patterns changing, and she realizes she’s been scooped up into Ben’s arms again and he’s hugging her close, kissing her temple while Armie watches with a fond smile. She blinks again and after a couple of tries manages, “That was fun. More, please.” She manages a pleased smile when both men devolve into fits of snorting laughter.

“Some of us have to work in the morning.” She pouts at the phone.

“’s not that late,” she mutters.

“Solo, I am entrusting you with the most precious thing in my life. I know I can trust you to take care of her. All I ask is that you adhere to the rules we discussed this morning. Nothing that draws blood or breaks the skin, no permanent damage, always use condoms, and her safe word is ‘Shamrocks.’”

They say a quick but tender good night and the screen goes dark.

To his credit, Ben doesn’t laugh or ask about her safe word, not even after the video chat has ended, but she can see the mirth in his eyes when she rolls her neck to look up at him. “We honeymooned in Ireland,” she offers and he grins but, again, lets it go. Based on the way his eyes go dark and the very pressing evidence of his arousal against her, he has other things on his mind.

“Rey.” He breathes her name and it might be a statement or a question or a prayer. Whatever it is, she can feel her own need building again. She turns in his lap, intent on raising herself up to kiss him, but when she moves to straddle his lap she is reminded that her yoga pants and knickers are tangled around her knees. She nearly falls, Ben’s hold the only thing that saves her and they’re both laughing again as he lowers her to the bed, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead. “Let me help with that.” He drags the mass of fabric the rest of the way down her legs and drops it on the floor somewhere before crawling back over her. She thinks he’s going to kiss her— _finally_ —but instead he just stares down at her, hovering so close but not touching her, so she arches up, capturing his mouth and he all but collapses on her.

As first kisses go it’s…pretty fucking spectacular. Even before his tongue traces along her bottom lip and she opens to him with a moan it’s one of the best kisses she can recall and some part of her recalls the night her husband told her about being his first kiss and that “Ben Solo is a fucking natural born kisser.” She agrees with that assessment. Her back arches, pressing her aching breasts against him and it’s so good but it’s not enough. She wants skin against skin so she breaks the kiss with a reluctant whine and pushes at his shoulder until he moves enough she can sit up, jerking her final piece of clothing off and throwing it across the room before pressing herself against him again and dragging him down for more kisses.

She lets her hands roam, tracing the contours of his back, dipping down to play at the waist band of his sleep pants—those definitely need to go away, and soon. She can feel him, pressed hot and heavy against her thigh, twitching against the fabric of his pants and she wants— _needs_ —to see all of him. Rey pushes at the waistband with a whine and he kisses her once more before moving up and off her. She almost regrets her actions with the weight of his body gone but then he finishes undressing and she stares, unabashed as she licks her lips and reaches out, fingers closing over the length of him. She gives him a squeeze and he groans before grabbing her hand.

“I’ve had enough of hands for a while.” She fights back a snort of laughter and just grins up at him.

“Maybe you should come back down here then,” she says, patting the bed beside her. He doesn’t though, not right away, instead crossing the room before coming back and she realizes it’s a good thing he remembered the condoms because she most certainly had not. He tosses the box onto the bed beside her and settles himself at the end of the bed, kissing the inside of first one ankle then the other, then trailing kisses up each calf until he reaches the inside of her right knee and oh, that’s nice.

His soft laugh tells her she said that bit out loud and then he’s working his way up her thighs and there are no words anymore as he nears her core. Similar to his teasing earlier, he makes his way up, up, all the way to the crease of her thigh, pausing to trace his tongue along the valley where her leg meets her body, turning to the other side to repeat the treatment and then…nothing. He just stops, head pillowed on her thigh as she squirms.

“Beeeeeeeeen,” she whines.

“Reeeeey,” he says back mockingly. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

She’s not in the mood for games anymore and glares down at him. “What I want, Ben Solo,” she purrs, “is your fucking mouth on my fucking cunt.”

“Such language,” he tuts. “I should punish you for that.”

She gapes at him, mouth opening to say…actually she isn’t sure what she’s going to say. She doesn’t have to say anything though.

“Should.” He tilts his head and something about the way he’s looking at her now stops any words she may have formed. “Won’t.” And then he practically dives into her, tongue somehow seeming to be everywhere at once, swirling around her clit, thrusting inside her, exploring every dripping fold or crevice. She’s so wet, so very ready again, and she knows it won’t take more than a few passes of his tongue.

She’s right.

Rey’s thighs are over his shoulders, pressing against the sides of his head, holding him in places as her hips roll, riding out her orgasm as he works her through it with lips and tongue, drawing it out until she taps out, forcing her legs down and pushing at his head because words aren’t going to happen, not right now. Her vision’s gone all blurry and her chest is heaving as she tries to remember how to breathe again.

Ben wipes his face on the sheet and stretches out beside her. “That was fun. You taste good.” She blinks a few times, staring dazedly at him. After a moment she can move again (sort of) and she rolls to the side, throwing an arm and leg over him and nuzzling into his neck.

“Part of me wants to ask who taught you to do that. The rest of me is terrified you’ll actually tell me,” she says with a grin.

“I’ll give you a kind of vague, half-answer if you want.” At her nod he continues, “Before Poe I got around a good bit, usually with women, and I felt like I had a reputation to uphold. It was a stupid ego thing, mostly. I have to admit, I didn’t usually enjoy it as much as I did just now.” Her hand strokes along his stomach, exploring the ridges of muscle. She doesn’t let her touch wander lower, mindful of what he said he wanted before. When she raises up to kiss him again he groans and pulls her fully on top of him and ends up straddling his thighs as they trade languorous kisses. His hands stroke over her back in a motion that’s more soothing than erotic, at odds with the twitching jump of his cock between their bodies.

“Hm, someone wants attention,” she says, and now it’s her turn to smirk.

He shrugs. “We don’t have to go any further. This is already far more than I ever expected to happen. I can just go mmph…” her hand covers his mouth, cutting off his attempt to be noble.

“I believe you told me you’ve had enough of hands,” she says, arching one delicate brow at him. He gives her a _look_ and she feels his tongue swipe over her hand, far less innocent than when she did it to him (was it really only the previous morning?). When he sucks two of her fingers into his mouth she gasps, feeling the pressure like an echo between her legs. She fumbles beside them for the condom box, nearly ripping it in half in her haste and she can feel him laughing beneath her as she hands him the square packet. She sits back on his thighs, staring hungrily as he rolls the latex down over his erection and unable to contain a shiver.

“Take what you want, sweetheart,” he says, holding her eyes with a dark stare as she moves forward, reaching down to line him up with her entrance before inching down agonizingly slowly, wagging a finger at him when his hips buck up to meet her.

“You said to take what I want,” she says, rising up almost completely off of him then starting the slow descent again. It’s his turn to whine and complain about the teasing now. She plants her hands on his chest and holds his eyes as she repeats the motion again, twice, three times, then shocks him by dropping down quickly, slamming down onto him with a smirk as she quickens the pace. This time she doesn’t stop him as he thrusts up, rising to meet the crashing of her body against his. His hands move up, cupping at her breasts, rolling her nipples, pinching delicate flesh roughly, just this side of too much, and she cries out his name.

Rey leans in, never stopping the movement of her hips and thighs, and their kiss is more a battle for dominance, all lips and tongues and teeth. She’s rewarded with another growling sound as she bites at his bottom lip, not hard enough to break the skin, never that, but enough that he grunts. She does the same thing to his tongue before swiping at his mouth with her tongue, soothing and teasing all at once. The rhythm of his hips bucking up into her changes and he snakes one hand between them, thumb rolling over her clit.

“Come for me Rey,” he says with a grunt, “wanna feel you.”

“Close, so close,” she breathes, adding a rolling motion to her movements that has them both groaning. She can feel it building deep within her once again and then it’s on her all at once. He grabs her hips, jerking her down onto him as her inner muscles squeeze, milking him, and he thrusts up into her once more, twice, and then it’s his turn.

They slump against each other, panting and shivering through aftershocks.

When she can form words again, she can’t stop herself from saying “Poe’s going to be insufferable now, you know.”

“Like he isn’t already?”

It’s laughter that makes their neighbors call the hotel manager with a noise complaint.


End file.
